


Soft Hitting

by d_aia



Series: Partners [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, M/M, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about that bothered James. It wasn’t just the frosty welcome, but also the allusion that he might be a dog. In his experience, once people started dehumanizing other people cruel things happened.   </p>
<p>“As long as you don’t whack me on the nose with the newspaper,” James said. It was cheerful and charming, but also had a bit of steel in it. A subtle warning: ‘I know something’s off’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Hitting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters and locations are not mine.
> 
> What you need to know if you don't plan on reading the series: Q is a Holmes, Dolce Morte is an assassin that tried to off James, Q and James get along and sometimes have sex, and Mallory is M. 
> 
> That's it! The series is finished! Thanks to all of you that cheered me on and supported me! A big thank you to all that read, bookmarked, left kudos and/or comments!

**_“The unforgivable crime is soft hitting. Do not hit at all if it can be avoided; but never hit softly.”_ ** _– Theodore Roosevelt_

*

“In or out?”

James looked into the black goggles of Dolce Morte, then at the cars he knew were in the distance, closing in. The smoke from the three wrecked cars was hiding them from him and him from them. He still had time, but not too much and he needed to choose the lesser harm. His body got so much exposure to all kinds of sedatives that it allowed him to fight it off for a bit, but it was never a fight that he could win. The problem was there was no way to actually make an informed decision. For all he knew, everybody was sent to kill him. But, bloody hell, he would rather be done in by an assassin, then by his own organization. James got in the helicopter.

“Good boy,” Dolce Morte’s deep voice purred.

James groaned.

“I’m about to pass out,” James tried saying, but didn’t know if his words were actually heard. “Be a dear, don’t wake me up for the torture for the next ten hours.”

*

_“Ireland?” James asked. “That’s practically home.”_

_“It’s still under our purview, 007,” M said coldly. “And you’ll go where you are sent.”_

_Something about that bothered James. It wasn’t just the frosty welcome, but also the allusion that he might be a dog. In his experience, once people started dehumanizing other people cruel things happened._

_“As long as you don’t whack me on the nose with the newspaper,” James said. It was cheerful and charming, but also had a bit of steel in it. A subtle warning: ‘_ I know something’s off’.

_M smiled serenely. He also blinked twice in rapid succession, hid his left hand, and tightened his right one. It could be that M had learned control and now was taking advantage of an assumption. But his instincts told a different story. This wasn’t going to end well. The only thing left to question was who would come out the victor._

_“You leave tomorrow.”_

_“I guess I am,” James said, incidentally having the final word by leaving the room with a respectful nod._

_Behind James, the door to M’s office clicked._

*

The first time James groggily woke up he was on a small yacht. Driving the boat, Dolce Morte was wearing a white suit and was humming something. No torture yet. Good. Then he went back to sleep.

Now, the second time around, that was when James felt truly awake. Not that that lessened his confusion any bit, because he was currently unsecured in what looked like a pricey hotel room, but it meant that the sedative was finally out of his system. Maybe he would be able to get some answers.

A tall, athletic woman entered the room. The bedroom, since it they were in a suit of some sort by the lounge room he could see when she opened the door. She was a fairly nondescript woman: dark skinned, close cropped hair, step light. Not exactly beautiful, and she seemed much too jaded to be called pretty, but the way she smiled when she saw he was awake and her generous gestures gave her a sort of charm that attracted people. Poetry in motion, a part of the background when immobile, it seemed the sort of person would be perfect for spying. But she wasn’t because she didn’t seem to have any sort of training in taking advantage of a natural skill. _Interesting_ which in his line of work meant fun, dangerous, and potentially lethal.  

“It was nine hours, but I didn’t wake you up,” the woman said. Her accent—and his impossibility to pin down—was familiar and he realized he was seeing Dolce Morte.

Well, well.

“And I see that I’m not being tortured,” James said cheerily. “That’s unusual.”

Dolce Morte frowned, only it seemed that her whole face was frowning and the rest of her body was trying to get in on it too. “You should maybe consider another job,” she said. “Or not. Maybe torture’s your thing.”

“Or maybe the torture is a side effect of having doing what I like,” James replied. He couldn’t help but feel like he was lying. It _was_ a great job, just not for him. Not this job. Not anymore. He has been betrayed past the point of no return, then several more times just for shits and giggles.

“Or that,” Dolce Morte agreed easily, with an exaggerated but elegant shrug. “I don’t pretend to understand. You can call me Rita, by the way, Mister Bond. Or is it James? I’m not calling you a number.”

“Either Bond or James is fine.”

“Well, James, I was hired to protect you.” Rita beamed at him. “Which, I know, first I thought either somebody’s pulling my leg or somebody’s losing their money. Then I actually had to do… what do you call them? Extractions. I’m going to go with it, I like the term. I had to do an extraction from what seemed to me the very people that employ you. I could be wrong, of course, there wasn’t any time to confirm. But you were already sedated and people were dead, so I’m thinking—my employer probably knew what they were doing.” She nodded empathically with large eyes.

“Who hired you?” James asked.

Rita tilted her head one way then the other. She laughed. “Somebody with money.” She winked at him. “Apparently you still have very informed, very rich friends. From what I know of your reputation, I’d be shocked, but I never put too much stock in it, so what I really am is jealous. I’m not cheap you know. _And_ I’m supposed to be at it until they tell me you’re cleared. Who knows how long that’ll take?”

James wanted to say something sarcastic or glib. But if she was telling the truth, then he’d just found his only ally. He wasn’t quick to trust, that was established. Quick to test, though, that was a separate matter.

“MI6 sold me out,” James said and stood back to observe.

Rita nodded as if she expected as much. “It is not the first time MI6 makes a sacrifice. It’s not even the first time you are the sacrifice.”

Turning his first instinct, to frown, into a casual blink, James said, “You seem to be well informed.”

“I was hired to kill you by a lot of different people.” Rita shrugged. “Different people have different files. So, yes, I am. But only by chance and the sheer number of people that want you dead.”

“I imagine that, if only because of they are so many, they’d pay more than your current employer.”

Flapping about a hand, Rita rolled her eyes. “They are generally cowards, but yours were a particularly bad batch that didn’t know how to negotiate. Because I was the only one willing to get your contract I was paid 85% upfront. Eighty- _five_ ,” she said, part amused and part amazed. “And my current employer is much more interesting.”

“How so?” James asked. He was wary to be relieved by what she had said, but everything rang true. It fit with what he knew, but was it too perfect?

“Who would think to hire an assassin to protect? I mean, it’s logical when you think about it. But still, who’d think?” Rita said, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “I’m pretty sure they’ll try to kill me if I fail. So, not a coward.” She grinned girlishly. “Isn’t that delightful?”

“There are many definitions of the word,” James said non-committedly. “What made you think he’s going to kill you?”

Rita suddenly looked playful, bouncing a couple of times on the bed. “Are you trying to find out more information on my employer?” she asked, mock suspiciously.

“Yes,” James answered simply.

Laughing, she stood. “You are a wily man, Mr. Bond.”

“Spy.”

“That you are.” Rita chuckled while looking at him reprovingly. It seemed too dramatic to be genuine, but then she was one to make big gestures. “I’m having a great time, honestly.” She had a self-satisfied grin curving her lips.

“So?”

“Hm?” Rita batted her eyelashes at James and he finally understood what she wanted.

“What made you think they are going to kill you?” James asked with a hidden sigh at changing the pronoun.

Rita clapped once, smiling. Presumably it was at his finally catching on. James gave her a long suffering look.

“You do not have reasons to be upset, James,” she said with a blinding smile. “I wasn’t the one attacking, you were.” She gave an exaggerated pout, but thankfully went back to the subject. “And I know, because they didn’t threaten me. At all. It was implied, the ‘or else’.”

“Have _you_ thought about getting a different job?” James asked dryly.

“Yes,” Rita answered, surprising James in the process. “But this will do for the time. I’m having fun while I get paid, there’s really no disadvantage.”

“What about dying?”

Rita was unimpressed. “That one is always a danger. But the thing is I know that I won’t be doing this for the rest of my life. I’d either die or get old and if I’m getting on in years, I’d do another batch of thinking.”

“Are you sure you’re going to know when the time has come?”

“Yes,” Rita said certain. “When it stops being fun.”

James felt a strong need to scratch his chin. He ignored it. “Isn’t that a bit too idealistic?”

“I think it’s more hedonistic,” Rita said, thinking it over. “And I’m still trying to find a reason for why that’s wrong.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” James replied. “Do you really care if it is?”

“No.” Rita shrugged, the same expansive gesture as when it first happened. “You don’t think like that, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Why?” Rita asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

James pondered the question for a bit. He thought about saying that he has responsibilities, to his country and those weaker than him. He thought he’d say something about the balance and maintaining it. He thought about saying how he’d do the necessary thing now because it was the best thing for tomorrow. But he didn’t say any of it. Instead, he said, “Because I’m not alone in the world.”

Rita nodded as if she’s heard the unspoken words anyway. “Even if that means you are unknowingly sacrificed.”

“Even if.”

“Why did you fight them then?” Rita asked. “Wouldn’t that be counterproductive if you agree with their plans?”

Rita seemed interested—certainly her whole body was expressing her attentiveness—but not very. It was as if she would have been curious about an answer, but she wouldn’t be too upset if she didn’t get it. And James would respond seriously if he knew, but he didn’t.

“I’m a contrary bastard.”

*

_“Q, there’s nothing here,” said James. His voice was a tad sharp because he was beginning to feel off. “Beside the rocks.” A wave of grogginess made him lose sight of where exactly up and down were. He extended pressed his forehead against the car’s wheel for a moment. There was an ominous silence in his ear. “I’ve been drugged.” James chuckled. He mind was working double-time. “You sold me.”_

_Finally, M started talking in his comm. “We thought it was appropriate to make an exchange for the life of multiple civilians.”_

_James wanted to shout for Q, to deny the possibility that the waif of a boffin could have been involved. He knew, though, that Q’s first priority was to country and not to a dalliance. As much as he felt the sting now, it was somewhat comforting that the two of them really had the same values._

_“Glad to be consulted,” James said nonchalant._

_“007, please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” M said, calm and cold._

_“Am I supposed to roll over too?” James asked._

_James got the humor of the situation, even if was the dark kind. He started chuckling, then outright laughing. Through his weariness, he could hear a scuffle on the comm, but he was beyond caring._

_“Unhand me immediately.” Q’s voice sounded far away, but finally within range. It made James smile and laugh harder for some unfathomable reason. “Let me go,” Q said in the same composed voice as ever, and damn that was a sound for a sore Double-Oh’s ears, “or I’ll break your hand.”_

_Another voice could be heard snorting._

_“You should listen to your Quartermaster,” said James cheerfully._

_Apparently, they all ignored James because shortly thereafter there was a scream and the tell-tale thump of a body suddenly on the floor._

_“Told you.” James couldn’t resist._

_“I didn’t say I’d do it myself,” complained Q in his usual efficient voice._

_James smiled. “Quartermaster’s the same. That’s a comfort.”_

_“007, I—”Q paused for a bit. “I didn’t know and I should have. I’m—I don’t even know if I have the right to say this considering I failed you, but_ I am sorry _.”_

_So maybe Q hadn’t known, or else he was offering James a nice final thought._

_“It’s quite all right, Q” James said neutrally._

_“No it isn’t,” Q said. “But I can’t change that. What I can and will do,” here his words started getting a tad breathless and hurried, “is a window of about an hour without any satellite surveillance or communication. I hope you make good choices, 007.”_

_There was a click and James’s comm was dead. Just in time for a car to appear from the bend, some 500 meters ahead. It seemed to James that it was one of those moments where he was going to do something insane. So, he nodded, aimed his car for the other one and stepped on the gas._

_*_

James had no real way to know, but he had an inkling that it may be one the Holmes brothers. He had one in mind that he especially wanted it to be. However, the chances of that happening, of Q hiring Rita, were slim. If he had hired her, then he wouldn’t have allowed MI6 to sell James, or Q wouldn’t have been so surprised when he found out what they were planning to do—because Q _was_ surprised; it was something that showed proportionally to how violent he was behaving. And if he’d known, he wouldn’t put himself in a position to risk his career in espionage _again_ to help James. Pity, though.

“Are we in London?” James asked.

“Yes.” Rita laughed. “You recognized the room?”

James hummed. “And the weather.”

“I think it’s nice,” Rita said delighted. At James’s questioning look she continued. “That you can recognize your country by the weather.”

“Sometimes.”

“Still.”

“I suppose this is the safest place,” James said and sighed silently.

“Outside MI6 jurisdiction,” agreed Rita. “Though trying to stay hidden with all the CCTVs and the powers of the mighty Quartermaster will be a pain. I hired two hackers, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“I think we’re safe for now,” James said.

Q would not be looking for them unless he was under orders, and legally M couldn’t order hacking for London. Of course, they might not care about the law. Also possible was that Q got burned by helping him earlier and was no longer Quartermaster. His paranoia, though, was begging him to consider the option of Q playing the long game and establishing himself as a trustworthy person for James. ‘Make good choices’, Q sometimes had a talent for the understatement.

“Why?” asked Rita, an amused glint in her eyes. “How would you know? You guys fucking?”

“I can’t tell you how irrelevant that is right now,” James said honestly enough. “But did you notice something about the communication in the area when you found me?” 

That made Rita curious. She frowned, but there was still a mischievous grin curving her lips. “The radio was down. I thought that might be because they wanted to capture you.” Rita studied James’s face carefully and though he kept it blank, her grin got bigger. “It wasn’t, was it? It was _for_ you.” She leaned back. “I’ll be damned.”

Rita wasn’t exactly to be trusted, but it was nice that James didn’t receive a confirmation for his paranoia.

“My comm. was down,” James said simply.

“And you thought you’d… what?” Rita asked smiling sunnily. “Find out what that was about? Wonder if it was a general problem with no reason to suspect otherwise? No connection whatsoever with the Quartermaster, of course.”

“Yes,” James said and smiled blandly back.

“Bullshit, spy-man!” Rita yelled happily.

*

It was the next evening that Rita entered James’s bedroom while pocketing her phone.

“Any news?” James asked, even though it was obvious.

Rita had been out to buy groceries because, in her words, ‘the extraction and the food is the extent to which I needed to extend my skills with this job; let’s be honest, you’ve pretty much got the whole thing covered’. James couldn’t disagree. Also, there wasn’t so much food as—‘finally, a vacation, I’m going to buy ice cream’—lots and lots of ice cream. 

“My employer says you are cleared to walk around,” Rita dutifully reported.

“What about you?”

“I have to cover you for another week,” Rita said with a wink. “That will be a challenge considering you’ll probably lose me as soon as you go out, so if you’re in trouble blow up a building or something.”

“I won’t be able to shake you off my trail for more than a couple of hours,” James said unimpressed by her tries to stroke his ego.

“But it takes anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours to die, so try not to kill yourself and leave me with the fallout. I can tell you it won’t be pretty,” Rita explained his demise with dramatic gestures, including the clapping of her hands and a forward jabbing motion. It was more disturbing than having the things she described actually happen. “Oh, and I’m not sure why the Quartermaster is doing it or even if he is, but somebody has control over the close-circuit cameras and they aren’t letting go, for two days now. I got my hackers teaming up and nothing.”

That didn’t sound very confidence inducing, did it?

“Also, my employer says that if you want to meet them to go at this address.” Rita handed a piece of paper over, and her face was openly amused. “It’s a pub. Surrounded by tall sniper-perfect buildings. Good luck!”

Even less confidence inspiring, if that was even possible.

*

“Ah, there you are,” the polished voice of the Quartermaster was heard from the hallway following a knock, making James stiffen and freeze with his hand on the gun. “Are you going to let me in?”

James was in one of the tall buildings overlooking the pub. Only, no one was supposed to find out where he was: as far as he knew he didn’t follow a pattern with his preferred methods of contra-surveillance; there was no tail, he was sure of that damn it; and he had no way of being tracked, less sure, but still. So, how did Q know where James was?

“I may or may not have put sensors in the buildings next to the pub to check for your gait,” Q said, sounding a teensy bit sheepish.

Rolling his eyes, James suddenly stopped. He thought he finally understood and moved carefully to the door, before opening it. “Because you are the sort of person who would think to hire an assassin as a bodyguard?”

Q gave of one of his discreet smiles. “I am,” he said sounding amused.

“And are you also the kind of person who’d like to see me dead or captured?” James asked airily.

“Never,” Q said somberly. 

James decided to trust Q for the moment and stepped back to make room for Q to enter the room. 

“Tell me about it?” inquired James gently.

Q sighed and sat down on the sofa, next to James’s rifle. “I’ve been suspecting something was wrong for a few months. Agents pushed to their limits, missions being prioritized over agents’ lives, negotiations with foreign powers. Nothing too serious, nothing that we haven’t seen before. Just a bunch of bad-tasting decisions,” Q explained and his face was as blank as ever. “But the rate of it was worrying. It had gotten to two or three morally ambiguous decisions a week. Something had to give.” His chest moved as though he was taking a deep breath, but James couldn’t hear it.

“I asked M about it,” Q said and it made tension gather in James’s shoulders. “He said that is our current political climate, the incoming rate in the organization was large enough that we could afford losing one or two agents if the country was protected. I asked him what happened to wanting people with experience.”

“Let me guess,” James said wryly. “He said that if they died, they had only gained years and not experience. Or perhaps that he wasn’t there to take care of their retirements and that people signed over control of their own lives when they decided to work for MI6.” He laughed bitterly and briefly. “It was always something among those lines, anyway, and that has been company policy of the Secret Services for a very long time, Q.” 

 “That was mostly it,” Q admitted. “Along with some insinuation that if I couldn’t do my job, perhaps it was time to step down.” His eyes briefly flicked to the ceiling, the closest he’d ever gotten to rolling his eyes. “I know about collateral damage, and it’s mostly code for bad planning. But yes, it happens and it happens a lot. What I saw, was the line between collateral damage and throwing people away, and M skipping merrily over it. So I started compiling evidence.”

“Q…” James trailed off.

“I know,” Q said, a little sharply. “He didn’t rise from the ranks, he was an outsider so he didn’t trust anybody and no one trusted him. It was his first time leading an organization and it was ours so he had to make the tough decisions. You think that’s what I saw, maybe I saw myself in him, and I wasn’t willing to let time take its course. Two problems with that: One, with time he got worse; Two, it was killing people.”

James nodded to show that he was listening. “And you started compiling evidence.”

“Only evidence was scarce because he wasn’t doing anything completely outside his purview. Extreme, yes, though it was nothing that he wouldn’t have an answer for in front of a committee. Not yet,” Q explained. “But the moment he was going from toeing the line of legality to stepping over it was so close I could literally feel it. And so, I hired Dolce Morte. You were my greatest concern because you were the hottest commodity MI6 had. I put trackers on a few of the others and 006 suddenly had accommodation issues in Siberia and had to go under because we thought that he may be targeted.”

“Accommodation issues?” James asked, amused.

“His houses kept blowing up,” Q said innocently. “Alec’s a tad unpredictable. He’d likely have blown up London if he had found out what was really going on. Even now, I’m certain he suspects something.”

“You are a good Quartermaster.” James smiled.

Q shrugged with one shoulder. “Not good enough.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Almost weren’t,” whispered Q. “I couldn’t catch it in time. Then you were being bargained off for a handful of tourists who didn’t give a damn about other another country’s rules and went right instead of left. There was no time. Dolce Morte wasn’t there yet and I was staring to doubt that she’d ever be.”

James had no idea what he should say. There hadn’t been somebody worried for him in many years, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he opted for not dwelling on it. “You know as well as I do that going the wrong way in a foreign country happens more easily than one would think.”

“I know it wasn’t the tourists’ fault, James,” Q somehow managed to snap without changing the volume of his voice.

It was impressive. Especially, since James actually felt a twinge of guilt. He had heard from various people that it was a normal response when someone was upset with them, but he hadn’t believed any of them. How could he? From what he remembered, he’d never felt anything like it. Now that he had, he found that he didn’t much like it.

“Oh, and they are now endangered,” Q said, oblivious of the effect his words had on James. “Now, any country—what’s more, every person in that country—that wants something of ours just has to kidnap a tourist to get it. It’s been a mess.” Q’s eyes suddenly gleamed maliciously. “That’s the first part of the charges against M.”

James thought for a moment, and then rephrased to avoid Q’s not-yelling. “You know that he’d still wiggle out of this one.”

“Yes,” agreed Q and the vengeful glimmer remained. “Which is where the second part comes in.”

“And what is that?” James asked with apprehension.

“The tourists were not released.” Q smirked evilly. “In fact, they were never in the possession of the group that wanted you.”

James leaned back amazed. M was buggered. Q didn’t have to do anything more, but he was going to go above and beyond. He was the kind of man who held a grudge.

“The tourists?”

“Incidentally why I’m not in prison,” Q said, a current of sadness in his voice that James didn’t understand. “I was fiddling with the systems where they were being kept and didn’t realize M had already struck a deal.” Q pinched the bridge of his nose. “They escaped and, since M’s method wouldn’t have worked and mine did, so did I. It’s cliché to say it, but—”

“You really _are_ too pretty for prison,” James said, amusement coloring his voice.

Q nodded decidedly. 

“How could he have made such a mistake?” James wondered idly.

“Oh, they had the footage all right.” Q gave a small snort, and then quickly pretended it didn’t happen. “There was an issue with the geography of the place as is shown on video, in that it obviously didn’t match. So, my branch—”

“Your minions,” said James with a smile.

“Did a little bit of digging,” Q said, ignoring him, “and found out the real location.”

“I’m guessing that something happened that made you not mention it to M,” James said almost warningly.

Q aimed an unimpressed glare James’s way, before saying, “I did tell M. But M doesn’t trust anybody but Moneypenny, and not even her fully. He either didn’t believe me, thinking I was trying to undermine him or even that I somehow found out about the negotiations and was trying to save you, or he did believe me, considered the possibility that they may have moved and decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Either way, I’m covered.”

“What happens now?”

“M gets brought up on charges, and you have to make a decision.”

“A decision?” James asked wearily.

“You could continue with MI6, of course,” Q said as soothingly as James had ever heard him. “Or there’s a position in MI5 that needs filling and I was authorized by Mycroft Holmes to make you the offer.”

This time James didn’t stop his hands from straightening his suit because it was the least expressive he could stand to be at the moment.

“Don’t start,” Q said, almost immediately annoyed. “Do you really think that Mycroft gives away positions that are important—to the country he _loves_ , by the way—to his brother’s lovers just like that?”

James had to admit that it was unlikely, but that assumed it was an important position.

“Yes, you paranoid bastard,” Q said, narrowing his eyes and generally looking as if James had insulted him. James hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t said anything. “It’s a key position: Director of Operations, straight under the Secretary of Defense, and in line with the Director of MI5.”

That sounded made up.

“As opposed to MI6, MI5 has its Director in more of an administrative role. The two, the Director and the Director of Operations, share their knowledge about anything related to the organization. This is done so that when there is somebody smarting after one of their operations, they’d know to focus their efforts on the person responsible. MI5 would still have a Director, thus a person who knows everything about the organization,” Q explained. 

“That’s not public knowledge.” James narrowed his eyes. “Don’t they get the two mixed up?”

“They do sometimes.” Q sighed. One would think he did it in grief or any other kind of feeling centered on sadness, but James knew better. If he was a betting man, and he was, he’d have said that the sheer stupidity of those people threatened to physically hurt Q. “And MI5 still has a Director—only it’s the wrong kind, being Director of Operations, instead of just Director—who knows everything about the organization. They are also responsible for training a new Director.”

“It’s smart,” James observed.

“Well, they had to be.” Q gave a little careless shrug. “They live in the same country as their marks. It gets dangerous, which is why they have an opening. Their last Director was killed.”

James hadn’t heard anything, but then again, he wouldn’t. “Steep turn-over rate is it?” he asked with a smirk.

“Quite,” agreed Q easily. “In the last seven years, they’ve had two murdered Directors and one that lasted as long as he did because he was corrupt and incompetent. The powers that be are looking for something different.”

“I’m not going to work behind a desk,” James said and lightly shook his head. “You know me, Q. “

There was tension in Q’s shoulders, but his smile was soft. “What’s more, I’ve accepted it. But there’s a difference between needing the action and throwing your life away.” Q suddenly became serious, his eyes focusing on James. “In MI5, the Director is handling all the administrative parts. There’s going to be a few reports on your activity, nothing more. It’s not our lone wolf approach, it’s a team, and you’re going to be the leader. And that means more responsibility. There’s also going to be budget concerns and fools in office, either the Director or the Secretary, but you deal with that all the time.

“Your approach might have to change because ignoring the problem won’t do this time,” Q said nonchalantly, like he couldn’t see that as a real issue, “but I have faith that you’ll manage. I have all the confidence that you’ll be able to handle a team if you’re at the head of it. And I’m absolutely sure that you’ll outlive them all.” Q leaned forward; his gaze was still fixed on James. “It’s _still_ the country you’d die to protect and you _still_ might get the chance to get murdered while doing it. The only difference is you’ll be responsible for how and why it happens. But it’s important for you to realize that it is _still_ your choice. You have to decide if you want the position at MI5, or you want to return to MI6,” Q finished. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were blazing, but he carefully sat back.

“How much time do I have to decide?”

Q raised an eyebrow, broadcasting his incredulousness at James taking the time to make a decision. When Q spoke, however, he was as sedate as ever, “Until tomorrow. My brother will expect your answer at the beginning of M’s hearing.”

James’s decision was already made. His only alliance, besides the country, was to Alec, and he could make a place for him if necessary. Now, James wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings, but while he was making deals, he wanted the full picture as to what was expected of him.

“What about _us_?” James asked bluntly.

“What _about_ us?” repeated Q, while making it sound like a completely different question.

“Are there any strings attached to your offer?” James didn’t think they were, but he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

“Of course not,” Q said coldly.

“I meant no offense, Q.” James sighed. “It is very sudden, you must see that.”

Q huffed. “What’s love to you?”

The question struck something deep and vulnerable in James. Did he care so much about someone whose name he didn’t even know? Probably. In their line of work, you find out pretty fast that only the person counted and not the names, titles, or whatever labels one chose for themselves. And James knew Q. Would James ever tell Q that? Probably not. Because it just seemed like inviting trouble.

“Love?!” James smirked. “We aren’t children.”

“I agree,” said Q placidly, not rising to James’s bait. “We don’t let the other take up our whole life. _Children_ do that. But we both have jobs that we are brilliant at and we both have other priorities. And that’s the key, James. Other. Because to me, my country, my family, my missions, my department, and you, are all equally important. There’s place in my brain to contain all of them.

“You are my friend, and I care a great deal about you,” Q said with an almost deprecating smile, “about as much as I _can_. As much as I am built to care about another human being. If we were to stop the sex, it would be a pity, don’t get me wrong, but that would be all that would change. We wouldn’t be shagging anymore. If that’s what you want, fine.”

James listened attentively. Sometimes, a plan would crop up or an angle. And he would acknowledge it and then let it go, because this was something he didn’t want to miss.

“But what we have now is love for me as I understand it,” Q said and James felt it was bravely done; no artifice, no embarrassment. The words as simple as possible. “Someone who understands what’s important to me, someone with whom I get along, someone with whom I have great sex, someone with whom I banter, someone who understands my drive, someone who understands my schedule, and someone for whom I can reciprocate those things. You don’t feel the same way about me? Fine, you don’t have to anyway. You get scared and want us to allow some distance? Tough luck. You’re uncomfortable? I’ll stay away. The point is, James, you are an important person to me, right there with my brothers. And that won’t change.”

James swallowed. “Q…”

But Q continued, “So yes, when I felt the danger I sought to protect you. A bit more than my other agents, but in the end, it was only what a Quartermaster should do. What _I_ did, as a person not a title, was to begin looking for options. I found the MI5 position, I discussed it with Mycroft, he wanted a change and I proposed you. He thought it would be a great idea and told me to make you the offer.” Q pushed back his glasses. “Now you know.”

They sat in silence for a couple of moments. When it became obvious that James wasn’t going to say anything, Q nodded. He stood up.

“The hearing will be tomorrow at nine,” Q said, as calm as ever. “It will be held in the usual room.”

As Q was getting ready to go, James caught his wrist, stopping him.

“I don’t need time to decide,” James said as cautiously as he ever did, which he suspected was still not enough for most people. “Lying down to die was never my style. I’ll take the position.”

“Good,” Q said with a small smile. He went to move again, towards the door.

James still held his wrist loosely. “I can’t pretend to use the same level of honesty with you as you’ve shown me,” James said and wanted to whisper it, like it was a confession. “But I can say this: I don’t want anything different about the way we do things.” He stood up as well, trailing his other hand up Q’s chest, to his chin, where James stopped. He gently pushed it up so that he could make sure Q met his eyes. “And I’d wreak havoc for you, too,” James said sincerely. 

 Q first lowered his eyes, but then lifted up again and Q smirked. “That’s good.”

 “Now, I have one last question for you,” teased James with a grin. “I understood the most important priorities, and that your agents are a one too. What more is there?”

Q gave him a look that said he was an idiot. No, most likely Q would have phrased it differently. Maybe that he was saddened by the sudden drop in James’s IQ points. Bloody hell, but the look suited Q and it made James grin automatically.

“Tea, of course,” Q said, appearing bored and his calm unperturbed.

“How _could_ I forget?” James asked and laughed.

Q shook his head primly. “Frankly, I do not know.”

Come on now, how could James possibly resist Q?

*

James arrived fifteen minutes early and casually made his way to Mycroft. He was currently busy, talking to the Secretary of Justice and his own brother. James couldn’t help but admire Q’s figure in a proper suit. On his way to Mycroft however, James was intercepted by an uneasy Moneypenny. Highly inconvenient, that. But he used it to his own purposes as he nodded to Mycroft, signaling that he wanted to talk, and he settled down to chit-chat until Mycroft was done.

“007…” Moneypenny trailed off in what could possibly pass of as her usual teasing manner to a lot of people. James saw right through her: she was nervous about something, probably the hearing. “Alive,” she continued nonetheless, a smile curving her lips, “as always.”

“Moneypenny.” James nodded a greeting. “And this time you weren’t anywhere near a rifle.”

“I’m just a secretary now, Mister Bond.” A bead of sweat could be seen at her temple, while she continued, smile never faltering. “No more weapons for me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” James said, trying to steer the conversation toward its inevitable point. “I’m sure you can convince the Quartermaster to make you something fashionable. He’s all about making a statement.”

“Yes,” Moneypenny said coldly, immediately dropping the friendly manner. “He’s making one today, out of misguided anger. You _know_ M is not a bad sort.”

James didn’t consider that merited an answer, so he kept quiet.

“M didn’t make any sort of connection at MI6. You know we’re not the friendliest bunch and he was an outsider,” Moneypenny explained somewhat pleadingly. “He didn’t trust anybody and when Q told him… it was an honest mistake.”

“He’s also equipped with a mouth so that he may quit in time if the position doesn’t fit,” James said calmly.

“Q made a mistake,” Moneypenny snapped. And by his reaction to Moneypenny’s anger, namely boredom, it served to show James that he was still immune to most people’s ire. “And _he_ got the chance to make up for it.”

“You don’t think he learned something from it?” James asked idly.

Moneypenny initially retreated from James’s question, and then learned toward him. “Of course he did.”  Her behavior seemed that of a frightened cat.Oh, how lovely it wasn’t. She was loyal to the person who stood by her when everyone turned their backs to her. James could understand that much, she had the right. The problem was so did he. 

“And don’t you think Q has the expertise to make the decision of whether M deserves or not said charges?”

“Q did that for you,” Moneypenny insisted.

James smirked. “I did get sold to be killed.”

“There was never any talk of murder,” said Moneypenny intently.

“Torture then,” James said and smiled menacingly. “Pardon me for being on Q’s side, which is actually my side. M is going to lose this one, Eve. Excuse me.”

James left her behind, and shook hands with Mycroft.

“Bond, allow me to introduce to you, the Secretary of Justice, Mark McKeel and the Department of International Development representative, Christopher Geis.” Mycroft turned to McKeel and Q-turned-Geis and said, “Gentlemen, out new Director of Operations, James Bond.”

Moneypenny’s sudden indrawn breath was summarily ignored in light of greetings.

“MI5 is proud to have you,” Mycroft said. Then, when Q and McKeel went to their seats, he leaned in close to James. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” And James had an inkling that Mycroft wasn’t talking about MI5.

“Not at all,” said James with a wide, beaming smile.

Mycroft paused and looked at James for several long moments. Then he offered his own shark grin. “That’s perfectly fine,” Mycroft said chuckling.

In two minutes’ times, James was seated at the back of the room watching M sweat.

“It is my understanding,” the Prime Minister said, “that since Quartermaster is still a classified position that they named a replacement. I am also assured the he has the right, under the law, to talk about this.”

“Do you?” M asked wearily, with a passing glace at where Q was sitting.

M’s question was addressed to Tanner, Q’s representative, but the PM could also be the target. It was obvious that the secrecy was grating on M. Q was right, M was not the right person for the job.

Q’s eyes flashed behind the glasses, but otherwise he had no reaction.

“Yes, Madam Prime Minister, you understand correctly,” Bill Tanner said in that mild voice he had, all the while ignoring M pretty obviously. “I am Chief of Staff, William Tanner and I will read the charges today.”

“If you’ll allow me,” Mycroft said in a soft, almost bored voice, “the presence of Mr. Tanner is also to show us that the Quartermaster isn’t interested in the position that might be vacant at the end of this hearing and is, instead, recommending Mr. Tanner.”

The news took Tanner by surprise, but Q curved the corner of his lips and it had the positive effect of straightening Tanner’s shoulders.

“Shouldn’t his name start with an M?” asked the PM dispassionately.

“That is a bloody stupid reason not to give someone a promotion,” James commented lightly.

“And you are?” asked the PM stung.

“I saved your life a few years ago,” James said, smug grin in place. “My name is Bond. James Bond.”

Q snorted.  

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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